


Barmbrack

by Challis2070



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Barmbrack, Demonic Possession, Gen, Random Irish Phrases, The Demon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 17:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21274799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Challis2070/pseuds/Challis2070
Summary: Samhain- the weakening between worlds.It is important to rebuild those boundaries.





	Barmbrack

He yawned as he cleaned off the counters. If he wanted to do this, he wanted to do it  _ correctly _ , after all. Luckily, he rarely had very much of anything at all on the counters. Food was merely fuel, after all, for all that he could now afford the finer quality ingredients. 

Not that it being accurate  _ mattered _ , it would never be  **Accurate** and that was at least half of the point.

“Ah hell. I don’t have enough mixed fruit left. I guess there’s probably a Walmart nearby here? Probably? This  _ is _ America, after all, so no Lidl’s or Tesco or anything proper like that.” It was  _ odd _ talking to himself, but it was also the best bet for not….awakening Bálor before he wanted to be awake and so be it and let him  _ sleep _ .

Grumbling, he pulled on a jacket and steeled himself to deal with the crowds that seemed ever present at such places here. And then swore and put his grocery bags back down as he realized the key missing step that he had to do before he left.

“List, list. Liosta Siopadóireacht!” Got to have a shopping list, he’d over buy otherwise! It didn’t matter. He could afford such things now. And he felt that Bálor actually appreciated the nicer things, but that was  _ very _ hard to tell. For as long as they’d been together, it was still rife with miscommunication.

So then! 

He started rattling the cabinets checking on what he had on hand for what he wanted to make. It would never do to leave them before checking, even if it did annoy him to have to check each and every time simply because he only ever bought barely what he needed and nought past that.

“We have enough tea and clean hot water, check. We need the mixed fruit, of course. Brown sugar?” He pulled open the container and saw the sad remains of the bag. “Brown sugar is needed, okay. Still have good eggs and butter, right. I don’t think bread soda  _ can _ go bad. And I always need more flour.” Did bread soda go bad? Well, it absorbed odours. “Okay fine, we chuck the old bread soda. Baking soda is what it’s called here, I believe. Hm.” Fairly sure it was called that.

Shaking his head, he pulled open the spice cabinet. “Okay, and we could probably use more cinnamon but it’s not  _ dire _ yet, at least.” The spice mix looked  _ okay _ so perhaps get more later.

With that that it occurred to him that he should check the loaf pans and...

...He yanked open the cabinet that held the baking parchment and started swearing. “Oh god  _ damn it _ , I knew I was about to forget something. More baking parchment it is as well!” This time he’d remembered to do that but it was still infuriating to have run out. Again.

Muttering to himself about how this better be the full list this time, he finally started on his way out to the store.

~~~

_ God _ he hated dealing with crowds. Being in front of them? Great! Trying to move through them when they flat out refused to part?  _ Terrible _ . He was so used to people parting for him. For him? No. Not  _ him, _ but for Bálor. Ugh, Jesus he hated the memory bleed over.

On the plus side, talking to oneself too quietly (and in another language to boot)  _ generally _ got people to leave you alone. He’d take it, for now.

“Baking soda, bread soda, baking soda…”

“Pardon me, but if you’re looking for baking stuff, you might want to try the next aisle over?” The young lady who was also browsing the fruit mixes said as he kept mumbling to himself. “I’m about to head over there myself.” she said, punctuating this with a wave from the bag of mixed fruit she had picked up.

“Oh...thanks. Bread soda is hard to locate here.”

“Bread soda? It’s called baking soda here, probably why you can’t find it!”

“Oh. Right.” Shaking his head to himself on the question of “if it’s not called that here, how did  _ she _ know that?” he wandered over to the aisle she had mentioned. Excellent! There  _ was _ baking soda here! And parchment paper as well!

~~~~~

Humming, he set the kettle to boiling water for the tea, and set aside the tea bags for that as well.

It was a nicely calming process, working through the steps calmly and steadily.

\-----

**He** wasn’t quite sure what Finn was doing, but whatever it was, it was causing him to think about things. Namely, how  **he** got his energy.

**He** had tried to explain this a fair deal, but there was...they were  _ not _ the same thing, at all, and miscommunication was to be expected. Bouncing around in someone’s head was bad enough. What made it worse was talking at cross lengths when you both theoretically were on the same page.

At least Finn (Finn. Finn finn  _ Fergal _ ) understood that  **he** was  _ not _ a  _ demon _ . It didn’t really matter that everyone else thought that (wait. Yes it  _ did _ , it caused the energy incoming to be less. But there was still yet to be found a way around it. Finn  _ was _ looking, bless his heart), at least his...vessel...host...comprended more of the situation (now.  **He ** did still feel a bit guilty about that, but there was nothing to be done for it, it went the way it had to go).

So. In  **his** best estimation- Prior to finding Finn ( _ Fergal _ ),  **he** was in a desert. Now, with Finn showing up,  **he ** found an oasis. But it was...hm.

An oasis where you could just reach the water with your hand, but only just barely dip it in. Certainly not drink freely from it, oh no no no. And then Finn (_bless his heart_) had gotten people to _notice_ **him**. And suddenly, it was like **he **could almost cup a hand and get a little bit more water each time. Certainly not enough. Was it ever enough?

(There was a faint fear that if **he** suddenly got enough energy that **he’d** _die_ from it, like as in refeeding syndrome. Too much, too fast) Faint rambling thoughts on the necessity of getting Finn to read more science articles and fleeting visions

And then, The Bálor Club. It did exactly  _ nothing _ in regards to getting  **him** worshipped, but it got the name out there and any little bit was helping right now. There was

**He ** would never be

There would never be worshippers again. But

Potential? Finn...Fergal...certainly had it. And that ...that could be enough.

Explaining any of this to Finn though was,  **he** thought, similar to Finn trying to explain his daily schedule to a  _ cat _ . Not pointless, just very very difficult. They barely had a shared language! 

Their motivations were different but there was  _ some _ overlap, Buíochas le Dia. And that’s where  **he** could start, in any explanations. 

Fairly certain that Finn shared  **his** thoughts on the shared potential at least (well, at least now. From what  **he** read, it seemed that Finn might legitimately still be fucked up from the original meeting? How how  _ odd _ . And concerning).

\-----

Soon enough, the paltry collection of dried mixed fruit (and sugar, and vanilla, and salt...and tea…) were in a mixing bowl in the fridge, marinating for tomorrow.

He had a pounding headache again, which mostly meant, in his experience, that Bálor was thinking about  _ something _ , but if he was going to stay asleep and think, he’d certainly take the quiet.

\-----

_Ah._ **He** was now fairly certain as to what Finn was baking. Time flew when you had to conserve your energy (and despite having a vessel now, it was still terribly energy draining. On both of them) much of the time.

From studying Finn,  **he** thought that Finn might actually think this ritual was merely that, a symbolic act. Not the physical thing that it was. It had no  _ matter _ that he did, but was yet another sign of how hard it was to explain this to this...this Finn (his cat/pet/vessel/friend?). You can cross this line for it is merely a line. But made of salt, and no slug could ever hope to cross it, despite the fact that it could be painted for all that it matters to you (thinking of  **himself** as a slug was odd, but appropriate with how much control  **he** had currently).

_ Barmbrack _ . If Finn wished to use the modern term for it, sobeit (but hm.  **He’d** have to tell him against that, it did seem to weaken it in ways Finn  _ really _ did not seem to intend...but thankfully not quickly).

“Bálor.” Ah yes, onto the next step in this dance.

“Hm?”

“There will be bairín breac soon.” Oh! He had called it by the better name,  **he** might not have to tell him after all! (Assumptions never  _ help _ )

“I am... _ aware _ of you baking it.” Vaguely. It  _ did _ explain why  **he** had been thinking of water metaphors for things earlier, at the very least.

“Shall we have dinner tomorrow? On Samhain?” And Samhain and not Halloween. He really  _ did _ have potential.  **He** had chosen very well for a choice  **he** barely had had at all.

“That would of course work for me. Don’t make me hand out candy this year.”

“Oh, certainly not. I have a much nicer costume I’d prefer to show off.” He smirked, which was entirely uncalled for.

“I am  _ not _ a costume...and I am perfectly adequate if I  _ was _ .”

\----

It smelled lovely, actually. It was a shame it would help reinforce the boundaries between them, but...they were necessary, of course. Shame, shame.  **He’d** regain  **his** strength and and and

It didn’t matter. They worked quite well together. This was  _ fine _ .

This was caused by Samhain and the breaking down of the boundaries and and and

**He** and Finn ate the barmbrack mostly in silence. It was part of their ritual, but not wholly required in general for it. It didn’t matter, what mattered what that Finn believed it was needed.

“You’re giving me a headache again.”

“I was not trying to do so. I think more rest is required.”  _ Always _ .

“Hm. We’re expanding the Bálor club clothing line. Quite fancy.” He pointlessly waved a hand as though Bálor could see him from across the table and was not merely bouncing around inside his head. It was still oddly nice that Finn cared enough to do so.

“Very nice. I must say they could use an update.” Despite not having a physical body,  **he** turned and looked at the barmbrack. “I also must say that while this is not  _ bad _ , I prefer that which you make at home.”

“Naturally, because it is at home. We travel.”

“I am aware of this, just stating my opinion on the matter. If I  _ must  _ eat bairín breac then I’d prefer the stuff at home.” It was _ important _ that he consider it home. And explaining that to him was also frustrating.  **He** was tied to the land almost as much as to  **his** vessel, but Finn was  _ not _ and  _ how _ and  _ why _ that was the case,  **he** still didn’t understand. More reading. Always more reading.

“Well, I’ll see if we can make it home next year.” 

  
“Thank you.” It was with slight regret that  **he** had to sleep before  **he ** could see Finn’s reaction to being thanked.


End file.
